“Normal couple things,” she repeated slowly, and I saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward.
“Let me take you somewhere nice,” I said. “I want to sit across from you at a table and talk without worrying about who’s watching.”
“I’d love to,” she said softly. “What time?”
“Seven? I’ll pick you up.”
She smiled and it was like the sun coming out from behind clouds after a day of nonstop rain. “It’s a date.”
CHAPTER 29
INA
The restaurant Dane took me to was a surprise. I had expected some trendy spot in Tribeca with a months-long waitlist and a menu full of things I’d never heard of before. I knew he liked the finer things in life. Nothing wrong with that. He had certainly earned his place in the world.
We were in Chinatown, standing outside a slightly run-down restaurant with faded red awnings and hand-written specials taped to the window.
“This is your favorite restaurant?” I asked, not unkindly. Just taken aback.
“This is where my parents used to take me when we first moved here.” He held open the door for me. “When we couldn’t afford much else. Mrs. Chen, who owns it, always gave me extra dumplings when she thought my parents weren’t looking. She said they would make me big and strong.”
“Mrs. Chen might have been onto something,” I said, patting his broad chest.
The interior was just as worn as the exterior. Red vinyl booths with duct tape holding the seams together, old-school hanging lamps and laminated menus that had clearly been around since the nineties. Paper placemats with the Chinesezodiac. But it was clean and warm, and the smell of garlic and ginger made my mouth water immediately.
An older woman appeared from the kitchen, took one look at Dane, and started shouting something in Cantonese that sounded both delighted and scolding.
“Hi, Mrs. Chen,” Dane said, affection in his voice. “I know I need to visit more often.”
She ushered us to a corner booth and disappeared into the kitchen without taking our order.
“What’s happening?” I asked with confusion.
“She’s making us the special menu. Which means we’re about to have way too much food and she’s going to be offended if we don’t eat all of it. There will definitely be leftovers.”
“Breakfast,” I said with a grin.
Heat flashed in his eyes and I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“You really came here as a kid?” I asked.
“Every Sunday for the first few years we were here. My dad would work overtime during the week and my mom was doing night shifts at the hospital where she was training. Sunday was the only day we could all sit down together.” He nodded at the young woman who delivered water and what I assumed were glasses of Pepsi. “My brothers hated it. They wanted McDonald’s, wanted to fit in. But I loved it here. I liked that we all got to sit and eat together and no one was judging us for being the odd man out.”
“Are you close to your brothers?”
He grimaced. “Unfortunately, no. Not really.”
“Why not?”
“As the oldest, I had to be the responsible one and they resented me for it, like I was an asshole for trying to keep them on the straight and narrow. And when I actually became successful?” He shrugged. “It made things worse, not better.”
The first round of food was delivered. Dumplings, scallion pancakes, and spring rolls.
I took a bite and nodded as I chewed. “So good.”
“Told you.”
“Why did success make things worse with your brothers?” I asked.
